Unnamed Innocence
by Deianeira2732
Summary: Sirius is not ready to be a parent. But he suddenly finds himself thrust in that world when a young girl is found abandonned in the Forbidden Forest. Who is she? Where are her parents? And why won't she speak?
1. Chapter 1 Disparity

_A/N: Hi again. This is a shorter fic set just before the deaths of James and Lily Potter. As always I do not own any of the Harry Potter world and I would appreciate any comments anyone has. _

**Unnamed Innocence**Chapter 1

I puffed as my feet crunched noisily on the forest floor beneath me. I was trying to be quiet but that's not exactly an easy task for a wizard of my stature. I was a half-giant; tall, solid, and sturdy. Unfortunately, my build meant that I made even the loftiest man in the world look like a midget.

_Quiet _quite simply just didn't fit into the equation, despite how much I may want it to.

Right now, between panting like a rabid dog and stomping heavily enough to start an earthquake, I was almost certain the entire forest was aware of my presence.

That is, of course, why I carried a nasty looking crossbow before me whenever I traversed in here. Can't be too careful when you enter the forbidden forest, particularly the farthest reaches of it.

At the moment Dumbledore, the great man that he is, had sent me out to deliver a message to the centaurs. The note sat heavily in the breast pocket of my thick fur jacket, a weight upon my heart. Though I did not know the contents of the letter I knew it's general gist. We were losing.

He-who-must-not-be-named's power was nearing its apex. Witches and wizards were falling so fast left, right, and centre, that you never knew where to look. It wouldn't be long now until the battle came to head. We were on the brink of open war. And sadly _His_ army was more significant than our own.

That's not to say we weren't fighting. We were, and hard against _His_ lackeys. But there in lies the problem. _He_, himself never made an appearance. It's not easy to battle a ghost.

Which brings me to my current task. Like I'd said, although I didn't know the contents of the letter that weighed in my pocket, I'm pretty certain of its contents.

He-who-must-not-be-named had a throng of magical creatures behind him. Werewolves, ghouls and giants had rallied willingly behind him and were all now plundering and slaughtering, vying for his approval.

Dumbledore had sent me out here today to ask for help from the centaurs, to gain their support for the impending war.

We'd already had this discussion, Dumbledore and I, and I'd told him good and proper back then that there was no way the centaurs would go for that.

_"Too ruddy proud for their own good," _I'd said.

"_Nevertheless, Hagrid," _he'd said to me._ "We must extend the hand of friendship," _

I stomped frustratedly down on another tree branch, revelling in the satisfying 'crack' sound it made when it yielded to my weight.

Grimly, I admitted to myself that I could see the Death Eaters' fondness for destruction. Although I would never do it at the expense of someone else.

Fang, my dull-minded boarhound, bounded eagerly ahead of me. I watched with some interest as he lolloped with more enthusiasm than normal through the twisted trees.

Most of my kind found the forest unnerving, frightening almost. But me, I'd always felt at home. I was, after all, part giant. It was almost as though I belonged here, that I should find my place amongst the other monsters.

I might have been a half-blooded wizard but I was often met with a certain amount of prejudice, particularly from those snotty-nosed, too-big-for-their-boots Slytherin students and their narrow-minded parents. For the most part it didn't bother me; water off a ducks back, as they say. After all, I had Dumbledore's unwavering approval. And that was enough to keep my head held high. Great man, Dumbledore, great man.

I wasn't heading in any particular direction. After serving as gamekeeper here for several decades I knew that the best way to find the centaurs was in fact to let them find you. Ruddy stargazers would have seen me coming anyway, it was just a matter of whether they _wanted_ to see me or not.

I was just fighting my way through a particularly dense part of bracken when I heard Fang whimper somewhere nearby. I paused, raising the crossbow before me as I searched for a sign of disturbance. When my sharp gaze discerned nothing I cautiously took stepped forward, heading in the direction of his cry.

I found the silly mongrel standing next to a particularly tall, dark tree, with a bowed head and a wagging tail. He fixed me with a particularly satisfied look when I approached.

I shook my head in dismay.

"I dunno Fang. Wha' am I gonna do –" I cut myself short as my gaze landed on a piece of white fabric, fluttering in the breeze on the other side of one of the tree's large roots.

Curious, I stepped around the obstructive object. My breath caught and my eyes widened as I took in a sight I'd never thought I'd see here.

There on the ground, curled up and fast asleep was a girl. A young girl. Here, in this awful place she looked so out of place.

Her smooth, porcelain skin contrasted starkly with the dark flora that blanketed her. Long dark tresses fell about her face as she shuddered slightly in the cool breeze. Her pretty face still held that slightly rounded look of childish innocence and she was clothed only in a simple white dress.

My heart went out to the beautiful child. She couldn't have been more than four or five years of age.

As a particularly icy gust of wind blew past us the girl shivered again, but this time her eyes opened with the abruptness. Bright sapphire orbs blinked a couple of times as she woke from her deep slumber.

I froze, unsure of what to do.

But before I could do anything, a soft gasp escaped from the child's mouth as her crystal gaze landed on my boots. They must have looked like boulders to her small frame and for one of the only times in my life, I was ashamed of what I was. This child, this beautiful, innocent creature before me would surely be terrified in the face of a monster like me.

The girl sat up quickly, craning her neck to turn wide eyes up to my face. Surprisingly there was no trace of fear on her young features. All I saw in the intelligent gaze that looked back at me was curiosity.

We stared, transfixed at one another for a moment. Gruffly, I cleared my throat, breaking the tense silence.

"You don' have to be afraid," I said in my softest, most genial voice.

The child said nothing. She just continued to stare at me for a moment longer. Then suddenly she rose and reached out to take my hand. Her tiny palm was so small it didn't even completely encompassed my little finger.

Startled, I didn't return the gesture for fear of crushing her delicate digits.

She was so trusting. I was a complete stranger, and a giant compared to her at that. Yet somehow this child was looking at me with the expression of utmost faith. It was almost as though she knew all along that I wouldn't hurt her.

Wordlessly I started leading her back in the direction of the school. The pace was achingly slow, owed to her tiny stride, which was no match for my own gigantic footsteps. But I was more than patient. I couldn't explain it but I felt like there was some sort of deeper affinity between us.

Curiously whenever we came across an obstruction, be that a fallen log or boulder, she'd let go of my hand and struggle her way over on her own. I could have easily lifted her small frame over the obstacles, her weight was feather-light to a beast like me, but whenever I made a move to help she shot me a reproachful look. It made me wonder what could have happened to this young creature before me to make her so adamant that she had to struggle through things herself.

Finally the magnificent stone structure of Hogwarts castle came into to view. I led the child up the dirt path and through the stone courtyard, thankful that it was at least summer holidays and the castle was virtually empty.

We came to a stop before a magnificent golden statue in the shape of a phoenix.

"Sugar Quills," I murmured the password gruffly. The statue came to life instantly, turning and twisting upwards to reveal a set of stone steps.

I looked down upon my companion. Her young face had a look of reservation upon it and I felt her tiny fingers close around mine slightly firmer.

I pulled her forward gently to step on to the winding staircase as it moved up. She still had that look of hesitation on her face but every now and then, as we ascended, her gaze flicked to me and her expression would relax again. Oddly, I got the impression that I was a source of comfort for her and that she continued to look up at me to remind herself that she was safe.

The rise of the phoenix statue eventually gave way to reveal a large wooden door at the top of the stairs. I knocked once on the hard wooden surface.

"Enter," a light voice called from the other side.

"Erm, Professor Dumbledore, sir," I began, pushing the door open just a crack to poke my head through.

The room's sole occupant was seated behind a magnificent marble desk. His intelligent light blue eyes brightened and he rose from his seat as he recognised me.

"Ah, Hagrid," he said smoothly, with a slight smile on his wise face. "I trust you delivered my message to the centaurs?"

I dropped my gaze to the floor slightly, the letter burning incriminatingly in my pocket. I'll admit I had forgotten the purpose of my trip into the forest.

"Erm, no, sir," I began uncomfortably. I knew he wouldn't be that aggrieved by my failure. No, not that. It's just that in all my years as gamekeeper, I've never let Professor Dumbledore down. "Somethin', erm, came up."

With that I pushed open the barrier between us fully and stepped into the room, pulling the hesitant child in with me.

If Professor Dumbledore was surprised he didn't show it.

"Well, hello there, little one," he said softly. Carefully the child's face stretched into a slight smile, though she still stood partially hidden behind me.

"I found 'er in the forest, sir. Asleep at the base o' one o' the trees."

Professor Dumbledore's gaze flicked sharply up at mine at the revelation, a frown upon his wizened face.

"Come child," he said to her after a moment. "Come have a seat over here."

I felt the warm grip around my finger release and I watched as the girl made her way over to the indicated chair. She lifted herself easily on to it, before sitting herself up poker straight, her hands clasped on her lap and her ankles crossed slightly.

The posture was distinctly formal and undoubtedly uncomfortable. I found it was curious that a child that young should behave with such stiffness.

Evidently Professor Dumbledore did too. He bent down slowly in front of her to look into her young face over his half-moon spectacles.

"Can you tell me your name, child?" he asked softly, with a reassuring smile.

The child stared back into the wizened, old face without hesitation but remained silent.

"You needn't be afraid. We only want to help you. Tell me, where are your parents?" Dumbledore tried again.

This time the girl dropped her gaze to her lap. She almost looked sad but again she said nothing. I was starting to wonder if she could even talk at all.

Defeated, Professor Dumbledore rose, but not before patting the child on the head gently. He made his way over to where I stood, still near the doorway.

"We need to find out who she is so we can return her to her family."

He turned back to face the girl whose gaze now roamed the room with an expression of interest.

"She's very astute. It's quite unusual in a child of that age."

The young one had risen from her seat now and was slowly making her way over to the perch next to the Dumbledore's magnificent desk.

From our position next to the door the two of us watched with expressions of awe as the girl raised her arm, silently beckoning the creature sitting atop the perch to come her.

With a rustle of red and gold feathers Fawkes flapped his way gracefully down to her extended limb.

The child's mouth opened slightly, her bright blue eyes transfixed as she carefully stroked the phoenix's warm feathers.

Silently Professor Dumbledore made his way back over to the pair. He crouched down before them, his hand raising to join the child in caressing the marvellous creature.

"Do you know what this is, child?"

She nodded. The wizard continued to watch her carefully for a moment. Then he seemed to come to some sort of a conclusion.

"Hagrid," he called to me quietly. "Please take her to Grimmauld Place. She shall remain in Sirius' care until we can identify her."


	2. Chapter 2 Cheated

Chapter 2 – Cheated

The smooth cold glass touched my cracked lips. Slowly I tipped my head backwards feeling the smooth liquid slide down throat easily. I drained the whole glass in a rapid succession of desperate gulps. The amber nectar burned down my parched throat, its strong, acrid taste lingering unpleasantly on my tongue.

I slammed the now empty glass hard down on the wooden table top with a mixture of disgust and distaste.

Drinking. My best friend and his family were in hiding and I was busy writing myself off. Nice.

It had only been a few days since Lily, James and Harry had gone underground but already I was feeling the emptiness of their parting.

We had been a team, James and I, collectively fighting against Voldemort as one. For the better part of two decades he had had my back and I had had his. Together we'd achieved more than a few small victories against the Death Eaters.

But now he was gone; out of contact, out of touch, out of view. And I was feeling more than a little bitter.

I knew it was necessary. Voldemort had marked them for death. Hell, it had even been _my_ idea that they go into hiding. But no rational sentiments would be able to satiate the feelings of loss and abandonment that haunted me now.

I lifted the cool, smooth glass to my lips again and downed yet another one of my mother's favourite brew.

Bleugh! It was just as disagreeable as she had been.

Fortunately I no longer had to endure her snide remarks about what a complete waste of space I was as a son. That is assuming, of course, that the horrid portrait of her in the hallway doesn't decide to unveil itself again.

My mother and I had never seen eye to eye. They say there's always a black sheep in the family. Well I guess in the Black family, that rotten egg was me.

To my dear, sweet mother I was a complete and utter disappointment because I had wholly refused to accept her bigoted and shallow ideals. My idiot parents and their _pure-blood_ mania. It was absurd to think we were better than others just because we had all-wizard lineage. In fact I knew more than a few muggle-borns who were smarter, stronger and just generally better people than my mother could have ever striven to be.

In reality, my life had only begun at sixteen, when I finally broke away from her malice.

So naturally when I'd moved back here, to the house I'd grown up in, I'd given it my best effort to pry her hideous memory out. But even now, everywhere I looked I seemed to light upon some small remnant of her malignant nature. From the tapestry of our family tree upstairs to the thick cobwebs that decorated every nook and cranny of this hellhole, I was reminded of what a nightmare my childhood had been.

"Ungrateful brat, drinking Mistress' mead. Sitting there, watching Kreacher with that sneer, like he's worth the time of day. He reeks of mudblood. Kreacher feels infected by it."

And then there was my mother's charming house-elf. The filthy beast had been damaged by decades of enduring that wench's prejudiced ramblings. Somewhere along the line he'd lost his marbles, driven to insanity by the wicked witch and her shallowness.

Now he was a constant thorn in my side.

I glared at the slave as he crept along the kitchen floor, uttering an unrelenting stream of insults directed at me.

"Get out," I growled softly.

Kreacher's mutilated face turned towards me and he stared defiantly back over his long hooknose.

"Nasty wretch thinks he can order Kreacher about – "

"GET OUT!" I bellowed, rising from my seat. Unfazed Kreacher slowly made his way out of the room, still muttering obscenities to himself.

Anger boiled through me and before I could register I'd picked up the glass and hurled it at the nearest wall. It shattered loudly, falling to the floor in a tinkering of tiny shards. If only it were that easy to rid myself of all other remnants of the malicious Black family.

"Try not to destroy the entire house," a bored voice drawled from down the corridor. Still incensed, I stomped down to the source.

"What do you want?" I snapped as I stood now facing the portrait of my grandfather.

Phineas looked my dishevelled appearance up and down with narrowed eyes, a sneer upon his haughty face.

"Are you drunk?" he questioned with the distinct air of disproval.

I rolled my eyes and ran a hand through my untidy hair.

"Something I can help you with?" I answered sarcastically.

In front of me the animated rendition screwed up his face again before replying nastily, "You'd better clean yourself up. Dumbledore has sent you some guests. They should be arriving soon and I'll have no relative of mine greeting people in the noble house of Black looking like they just crawled out of a gutter."

My rage seethed inside me again. He was just as bad as my mother. I'd sorely love to burn his painting down and dance on the ashes. But unfortunately I needed him; he was a convenient way to contact Dumbledore.

Biting my tongue and flicking him one last glare through narrowed eyes, I turned away and headed up the stairs to the nearest bathroom. Guests were the last thing I wanted but unfortunately he was right, just the same; I should at least look presentable.

I stared into the small mirror, realising with some annoyance that Phineas had been accurate in his description. I really did look a wreck.

My long dark hair, which hadn't been washed in months, was matted in several places. Deep rivulets of red scored my bloodshot eyes. I hadn't shaved in a while either and a thick down of hair decorated my chin and jaw. Just to complete the picture I even smelled like a brewery.

With a sigh I began the task of cleaning myself up.

-------------------------------------

I had just finished dressing in some clean clothes when I heard the front door crash open. Grinning to myself I started down the stairs. There was only one wizard who could make a noise like that.

"Hagrid," I called as the entrance hall came in to view.

Hagrid stood before me beside the front door with a distinct look of embarrassment on his large face.

"Sorry, Sirius. Jus' don' know me own strength sometimes."

I waved his apology off with a wicked grin as I descended the final barrier between us.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Hagrid shifted slightly, looking even more uncomfortable. I always found it curious that a creature of such substantial presence could be so reserved on occasion.

"Well, I, erm . . . Dumbledore sent me, erm . . . and, erm." Cutting himself off, Hagrid stepped aside without another word to reveal the a young girl.

My jaw dropped as I took in the appearance of the small child. She stared back at me carefully, appraisingly with dark blue eyes from behind the safety of Hagrid's tree-trunk of a leg. Dark brown locks framed her rounded, innocent face, her soft pink lips parted slightly as she gazed at me from under her long lashes. There was something very captivating, almost entrancing about this child.

Finding his confidence now, Hagrid reached behind him carefully to place a hand on the girl's head. His fingers stroked through the soft brown tresses affectionately as he spoke.

"We found 'er in the Forbidden Forest. Poor 'lil lamb was all alone."

I continued to stare numbly as Hagrid continued.

"Dumbledore thought tha' you should be the one to look afta' 'er. Until we can find 'er parents tha' is."

That broke the spell.

"What?!" I choked out.

Hagrid's frown looked slightly affronted as he replied.

"Dumbledore said tha' you should take 'er."

I balked. What was that old man playing at?

"I'm hardly parenting material," I said dryly, thinking back to my disarrayed appearance less than an hour ago. "I can barely look after myself, let alone another person, and a child at that."

Hagrid's frown deepened. He couldn't deny the truth of that statement. He knew from personal experience how poorly I lived.

"Yea' but Dumbledore said so," He reasoned slowly, creasing his brow further.

I scowled, realising that there was no trumping that logic. Dumbledore had better have a pretty decent excuse for this. There were plenty of other witches and wizards far more suitable for this task than me. And they hadn't just crawled their way out of the bottom of a bottle.

"Fine," I said in a tone a littler harsher than I'd intended. Still sheltered behind Hagrid the child balked slightly at my hard expression. Instantly I regretted it.

"What's her name?" I continued softer, moderating my mannerisms.

"I dunno," Hagrid said, looking down at the girl with a bewildered expression. "She hasn' said a word yet."

They continued to stare wordlessly at one another for a moment. Then Hagrid turned quickly back to me.

"Well, must be off," he said, taking a step backwards. "Gotta get back to the castle."

And with that he turned and departed, leaving me alone with the strange child.

The awkwardness of the situation hung thickly in the air. Neither of us knew what to do. I continued to stare at her and she stared unwaveringly back at me.

After a moment I rubbed a tense hand through my now clean hair and let out a soft sigh of frustration.

Merlin, I wasn't good at this sort of thing. This was better suited to James and Lily, or perhaps even Remus; people who knew what they were doing where little people were concerned.

_That's right_, I reminded myself. _This is just a smaller version of you._

Carefully I took a few tentative steps towards the young girl. She didn't move or even appear frightened.

_That's a start_, I thought. 

The floorboards creaked beneath me as I continued my slow and steady path towards her. Carefully I knelt down, coming almost to eye level with the small girl.

"I'm Sirius," I began kindly. And then I choked. All the words that passed through my head from here on out seemed inconsequential and foolish. Why was there no book around on 'how to relate to children' when you needed it?

"You must be hungry," I finished lamely. It was the only thing I could think of to say that didn't sound completely idiotic, even to me.

Apparently it must have been the right thing to say as a small smile now played on the girl's lips.

"Oh, your social skills are truly astounding," Phineas drawled sarcastically from his portrait beside me.

Ignoring him, I rose from my crouch. Taking the child's hand in my own and began to lead her in the direction of the kitchen. But I turned back sharply when my tug met resistance.

The child was staring up at my grandfather's portrait with a slight frown on her young features. Then her expression changed sharply and I watched, surprised, as she stuck her small, pink tongue out at him.

The shock on Phineas' conceited face was priceless and I could help but let out an amused chuckle as I pulled the child away.


	3. Chapter 3 Obscurity

Chapter 3 – Obscurity

I lay in the darkness, staring up at the red and gold canopy of my bed.

Thoughts danced through my head in a tangled, disjointed procession. Unless I quieted my restless mind there would be no chance of sleep finding me any time soon.

With a sigh I rolled over, twisting the sheets roughly around with me.

But there was so much to think about.

First and foremost how in Merlin's name I now found myself playing the role of parent. Was Dumbledore _stoned _when he made that decision?

I was unfit for the role in every way and he knew that. I drank like a fish, gorged myself on rubbish like a man three times my size, used bad language like it was going out of style and had absolutely no experience with children at all, ever.

Cleary he had to have been judgement impaired. Especially considering that so far I'd proven myself the very epitome of the word '_inept' _where the child was concerned_._

Ah, the child, such an unusual creature. She had the mannerisms and expressions of one much older than her young years. Every time I caught her gaze I couldn't help thinking that perhaps she'd perceived things about me that not even I'd realised. There was such a _knowing _glint in her deep blue eyes. It was almost unnerving.

But I couldn't help myself falling under her spell. She had piqued my curiosity and I was more than captivated by the mystery.

As we'd eaten earlier that evening I'd found myself unconsciously evaluating her every move. She'd sat very stiffly on the scarred wooden chair and folded her napkin over her lap with dainty hands. Her fork had been held carefully as she lifted small bites of food gracefully to her lips. Not once did she chew with her mouth open.

Her behaviour had been very proper, and given the dank, mouldy kitchen we'd been in, it seemed more than a little bit out of place.

Having observed her for a few minutes I'd resolved to contradict her refined behaviour.

With a loud groan of relief I'd lifted my feet up on to the table, reclining casually on my chair. The child's eyes had widened and she'd paused mid-bite as her sharp gaze took in the presence of my filthy boots upon the wooden tabletop.

Suppressing a satisfied smirk I'd lifted my napkin and roughly stuffed it into the top of my robes, letting it fall over the front of my chest.

The child had looked absolutely mortified as I'd hefted up my bowl and began shovelling food into my trap like a starving man. Crumbs and sauce had rained down heavily upon the napkin but I'd ignored them, continuing to eat at my gluttonous pace.

It was pathetic, I know, to mess with a child like that. But like I said, I was curious. And I'd wanted to see how she'd react to such contradictory behaviour.

Unsurprisingly, the child had turned away, her expression torn somewhere between confusion and disgust. _Her _behaviour however, had remained just as elegant as before as she continued to eat slowly.

As I lay in my bed now, I suppressed yet another snigger at the memory. I'd have to work on getting her to loosen up a little bit.

I rolled over yet again, the wrong way, leaving myself totally entangled in the mess of bed sheets. Futilely I fought to free myself, trying in vain to straighten the muddle. After a few frustrated minutes I kicked at linen sharply, pushing the cotton from my body.

Huffing with annoyance I rose from the comfortable mattress. My hands ripped roughly at the bedclothes, tearing them from the bed altogether to allow me to tidy the disarray.

I was just laying the final covering down when I thought I heard something. I paused, the blanket still clasped firmly in my hand to listen to the night.

My eyes widened as I registered the sound again. It was faint, a soft whimpering sound, but it was there; I had definitely not imagined it.

The blanket left my hand, falling forgotten to the hard wooden floor.

Carefully I crept my way to the bedroom door. Ignoring the buxom beauty plastered to the surface I opened the barrier and cautiously peered out into the darkened hallway, searching for the source of the disturbance.

The soft cry reached my ears again. It was barely a whisper but against the dead calm of the night I'd heard it as clearly as if it had been a shout.

Before I could even register I'd padded my way softly down the hallway to stand outside the large door of the guest room. Placing a tentative hand against the rough wooden surface I leaned in, pressing my ear carefully against the door. Sure enough I could hear the sounds of tumult inside.

The knob twisted easily in my grip as I pushed myself inside the room. It was pitch black inside the small confinement aside from narrow beam of moonlight that ghosted through the single dusty window. Slowly my gaze drifted down the stream of light, following its path until it landed on a small figure buried under a thick pile of blankets on the room's sole bed.

She was lying on her side, the blankets twisted around the waist of her small frame. Her dark tresses fanned out like a waterfall behind her, contrasting starkly with the soft white pillow beneath. One tiny hand stretched in front of her. Curled into a fist she clung desperately to the downy pillow as another soft cry left her lips.

Then suddenly she curled in on herself, her young face contorting into a grimace of pain. Another whimper left her lips only this time it was marred distinctly with anguish.

Shocked, I watched frozen in the frame of the doorway as the child continued to writhe.

The spell broke as another agonised cry ripped through the air. It was like a shattering of glass - sharp, piercing and broken.

I went to her immediately. My hands ran themselves along the length of her small body as I sought to free the anguished child from her torment. She shuddered under my touch but continued to thrash unconsciously.

Not knowing what else to do I took her petite shoulder in my hand and rocked her small frame gently.

The child's eyes snapped open with the touch.

Her crystal gaze landed on me as the haze of sleep cleared. With a gasp she sat up quickly, jumping back to press her small body firmly against the wall behind the bed.

She was panting, her little frame wracking with desperate, gasping breaths. Wide eyes continued to stare at me as she shook against the support.

She looked so frightened. But I didn't know what to do.

Merlin, where was Lily when you needed her? What would she do? Make the child a cup of tea, perhaps? Somehow even my inexperienced brain knew this would not be appropriate.

I watched as slowly her tense posture eased and she slid herself slowly down the wall to sit on the pillow. Small knees pressed up against her trembling chest followed by a pair of arms, which she wrapped around herself.

'_Oh, Sirius, you prat,'_ I thought sardonically.

She was comforting herself, compensating for the fact that I was too incompetent to realise what she needed.

Not wanting to scare her further I carefully lowered myself on to the foot of the bed, never breaking eye contact. Slowly I extended open arms to the shivering child.

She hesitated for just a second. Then slowly she rose from her crouch, walking unsteadily along the length of the soft bed.

Surprisingly she didn't climb on to my lap like I'd expected her to. Instead she settled her small frame on the covers beside mine. Her tiny fingers closed around my hand before she leaned over, pressing the side of her slight warmth to mine.

Together we sat side-by-side in the blanket of the darkness.

~*~

"Right," I muttered, distractedly. Unlike the child's, my mind's own tumult had not eased during the course of the night.

She stared up at me with a questioning gaze on her young face as we stood once again in my mother's gloomy kitchen.

Hastily I lifted her small frame and settled her on one of the damaged wooden stools.

I watched, mildly frustrated, as her body automatically assumed its stiff, formal posture – back straight, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap.

Apparently that behaviour was quite ingrained.

I shook my head as my thoughts once again resumed their nervous, disjointed pace.

Shakily, I ran a hand through my hair, my feet unconsciously carrying me in a repetitive path back and forth across the cold tiles.

"Right," I murmured again. My gaze was downcast as I turned inward, seeking for some rationality amongst the incoherent precession. Once more I glanced in the child's direction.

_What the hell am I going to do with you now?_

From her place the child watched wordlessly as I paced anxiously across the tiles.

With each heavy step my thoughts became more and more fractured. Then suddenly the explosion in my head seemed to overflow, the excess pouring from my mouth unwillingly.

"You can't stay here," I blurted sharply, though I spoke more to myself than anyone else. "I can't look after you. I don't know anything about kids. I don't even have any food for you to eat."

My gaze flicked unconsciously back to the child as I reasoned, though I don't know what I expected to see on her face. Concurrence, perhaps?

For her part the child remained expressionless.

She shivered slightly under my scrutiny and I frowned, realising that she was barefoot and still clothed only in a thin cotton dress.

"I don't have anything for you to wear either," I said, my heavy footsteps resuming their pace.

No, the child shouldn't stay here. Merlin knows how I was going to tell Dumbledore that though.

"What do I even call you?" I said suddenly. My back straightened and I froze as the thought struck through me. " 'Girl'? Or 'Child', perhaps?"

Internally I sneered at the names. They sounded so cold and impersonal. Surely she deserved better than that.

I didn't really expect her to respond so it surprised me a little when she raised one small hand and beckoned me over to her.

Wordlessly I crouched down on the hard tiles before her. Slowly the child slid herself forward on the stool, bringing our faces closer together. Her dark blue eyes held a vulnerable edge to them as they penetrated deeply into my own.

I started slightly when one small arm wrapped around my neck and she leaned in, pressing the side of her face to mine. She smelled like sweet innocence, a mix of honey, almond and lilies. Carefully I brought my hands around her, holding her small frame to my chest.

Oddly the gesture felt comfortable, natural even.

Then one tiny hand reached up to cup my ear and I felt her warm breath caress my skin. Softly, she breathed the single word to me like a stolen secret.

"Rachel."


	4. Chapter 4 Revelations

Chapter 4 – Revelations

The child quietly munched on her breakfast from the other side of the wooden table. Fortunately I had been able to scrape together enough ingredients to make pancakes for her.

As for me, I resisted the temptation to indulge on my usual morning feast of rum or whisky. That would be irresponsible with a child under my roof.

_Rachel_. I had to keep reminding myself of her name.

I stood watching her, reclining on the granite bench behind me, as she ate the fluffy treats with delicate fingers.

Why in Merlin's name she chose to confide in me was beyond explanation.

I was completely ignorant of the ways of children and, as far as I was concerned, had done a pretty decent job of bollocksing up the relationship between us so far.

Apparently I must have done something right somewhere along the line. Who knows what though.

I watched with interest as Rachel carefully placed her knife and fork down parallel to one another on the now empty plate. I raised one eyebrow, resisting the urge to smirk at her practiced mannerisms.

"Done?" I asked.

She nodded once, pushing the plate away from her. I took the offering and deposited it in the rustic sink. Normally I'd have made Kreacher clean the dishes but he'd conveniently disappeared. _Again._

"If you're thirsty I think there's some milk in the fridge," I said distractedly as tepid water poured in around my hands.

I heard the 'snap' of the fridge door closing just a second later and I turned around, surprised by the speed of her response.

I'd swear there was an audible 'thud' as my jaw hit he floor.

Rachel hadn't moved from her seat at the table. She hadn't even uttered a word and yet she sat there with her arm outstretched, a small wand clutched in her tiny fist as the half-empty milk bottle flew across the room towards her.

I continued to gape as the milk bottle hovered over next to her before it tilted itself over her glass. Not a single drop spilled as its contents emptied into the awaiting cup.

Rachel lifted the now full glass to her lips with careful hands. But she paused when the creamy liquid touched her lips, her face creasing into a frown as she took in my shocked expression.

Locking eyes with me she lowered the glass again with a questioning glint.

"How did you do that?" I choked out, blinking with surprise.

Rachel's frown deepened and she cocked her head to the side slightly as she answered.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she said slowly.

"But," I began with wide eyes, gesturing toward the fridge. "You didn't say a word."

Gently she placed the glass down on the table. Her dark eyes looked a little saddened now.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked in a whisper, bowing her head. Long brown locks fell down around her face as she spoke, her pink lower lip jutting out in a dejected pout. I softened at the poignant expression.

"No, kiddo, I'm just a little surprised."

Again, more surprises as the nickname flowed unconsciously from my lips. Maybe I was geared for this after all.

Rachel looked up at me, blinking to clear the despondency from her gaze.

"How old are you?" I finally asked after a long pause.

"Four." Her gaze flicked away, her tongue ghosting over her lips as she answered.

I took a moment to think this answer over. Non-verbal spells AND that degree of control at her age – was there another child at all throughout history with her abilities? Somehow I thought not.

"How old are you really?" I asked, leaning down on the tabletop to fix her with a cheeky grin.

~*~

"Ready, Shortie?" I asked, patting the head of the child before me with a gentle hand.

She craned her head upwards to look at me with wide eyes before nodding once.

"Here goes nothing," I muttered, pressing carefully on the hard wooden door before us.

The barrier did not yield to my touch. Unsatisfyingly it didn't even budge in the slightest. I frowned slightly before pushing against it with a firmer hand. Again, nothing.

Beside me Rachel was now looking up at me with an expression of expectation. She was evidently trying to suppress a grin at my failed attempts as a small smile now played on her lips. She pulled her wand out from the sleeve of her dress, her young eyes shining with amusement as she pointed it at the door. Still looking at me she raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

I shook my head in frustration, ignoring her offering as I turned back to the scarred wooden door. No way was I going to be outdone by a child.

Roughly I thrust my shoulder at the hard obstruction, once, twice and then a third time before it finally succumbed with a sharp crack.

Air brushed past me in a gasp as it poured into the forgotten room and suddenly we were enveloped in a dense cloud of dust. I coughed, waving my hand frantically in front of my face to clear the haze. From the hallway I heard a small voice do the same.

Slowly the air cleared and the room came back in to focus. I glanced cautiously around, absorbing the familiar sights.

I hadn't entered my mother's bedroom in nearly a decade. It had been sealed up shortly after she died. The dark room was mostly dominated by the presence of a large, uncomfortable-looking bed. The quilt that adorned the object was black velvet, richly embroidered with the Black family crest. On either side of the bed were two wrought iron side tables, looking both heavily tarnished and far too lavish for the quaint room. The only other object present was a large antique wardrobe. Paint peeled profoundly from the carved wooden surface in long stripes of neglect.

As I looked around I couldn't help thinking just how much more pleasant this room was now with my mother gone. Even with every inch of it covered in a thick layer of grime and an intoxicating dank and dusty smell to the air.

It was a thought that brought a grin to my face as I reached out to pull Rachel into the room.

"Now," I said, opening the doors to the large cupboard. "Let's find you something to wear."

It only took one quick glance for me to surmise that this was going to be a difficult task. But then again how fussy is a four-year-old when it comes to their attire.

I pulled out the first garment within reach – a long, shapeless black dress, suitable exclusively for funerals – and held it out to Rachel for inspection. She screwed her young features up into a grimace of revulsion. I chuckled.

"That's a 'no', then?" I asked, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

We continued our pace of inspecting and rejecting garments. In no time at all a large pile of discarded clothing lay on the filthy wooden floor.

I turned back to the wardrobe, my hands holding the doors open. Most of its contents already littered the floor, leaving very little for us to choose from. I sighed and ran a hand messily through my hair.

In a moment of desperation I turned around and picked up the first garment from the floor, holding it out to Rachel for a second inspection.

"Are you sure you won't wear this?" I asked with a slightly pleading tone.

Before I could react she'd whipped out her wand again and flicked it in the direction of the tasteless sack in my hand. I gasped, throwing the garment up in the air and bounding back as the hem burst into a dance of flames. Before the fabric even had the time to float back down to the floor it had been completely consumed by fire. Instead its remnants ghosted down on top of the pile of discarded clothing, dusting them with ashes.

Rachel looked up at me now, wand still in hand, silently challenging me with her unimpressed gaze.

I couldn't help but bark out a laugh as I ruffled her hair.

I turned back to the wardrobe, digging deeper within its shadowy depths. Eventually we found a few items that weren't completely heinous. Pulling my own wand out I made short work of shrinking the garments down to a size small enough to fit Rachel's slight frame.

"Come on," I encouraged, holding up one of the approved garments for her.

"You've been wearing those clothes for days. Not even I'm that uncivilised," I teased.

I registered a flash of a pink tongue poking out at me before her face disappeared from view. Carefully she lifted the soiled remains of her white dress over her head before turning around and discarding the garment on the floor with the remnants of my mother's wardrobe.

I gasped as my gaze caught a flash of something on the smooth skin of her back. Rachel made to turn around to face me again at the sound, but I stopped her, clamping my hands down on her upper arms instead. My firm grasp held her in place as I knelt down behind her to examine her back more fully. A small but obvious mark was pressed into her left shoulder. Against her porcelain flesh the black blemish stood out hideously and starkly. I felt my jaw drop as my wide eyes took in the abhorrent scar on her pure skin.

_No, it couldn't be . . . _

Unconsciously I raised one hand to trace a finger over the ugly mark. Rachel froze in my grip at the touch but I was too shell-shocked to notice.

Releasing her I rose swiftly, my gaze automatically dropping to the floor as my tumultuous thoughts turned inward.

Before she'd even had a chance to turn around again I'd bounded out the door and down the stairs with large, harried steps.

In my stunned frame of mind I nearly bowled over Kreacher on the first floor landing, who'd evidently decided to make an appearance.

"– broke Mistress' heart –" he muttered behind me.

But his inane ramblings fell on deaf ears as my feet carried me swiftly down to the entrance hall. I came to an abrupt halt, gasping for breath in front of the portrait of my grandfather.

Phineas eyed me with a bored expression from within his golden frame.

"I need to see Dumbledore," I panted out, leaning heavily with one hand pressed to the wall for support. "Now."

Phineas' mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Professor Dumbledore is an extremely busy man. I'm sure whatever it is you can deal with it – "

"Just get him now," I hissed through clenched teeth, flicking a hard stare on my relative.

Shaking my head I watched as Phineas walked out of his frame muttering something unintelligible and no doubt insulting.

He returned a few minutes later looking more than a little disgruntled.

"He said he'd visit later tonight," Phineas drawled.

"Damn it," I breathed, pushing myself away from the wall. I'd been hoping for an immediate meeting.

"This may come as a surprise but the world doesn't actually revolve around you, you know," a nasty voice called as I walked away.

-------------------------------------------

_A/N Well, another chapter complete. Thank-you to everyone who has left reviews so far. Your comments are very much appreciated. Keep up the good work!_

_Although it seems cruel to leave you here I've nearly finished the next chapter so I shouldn't be too long before it's uploaded. _


	5. Chapter 5 Conversations

Chapter 5 – Conversations

I sat with clenched hands at my mother's kitchen table. Beneath the flawed wooden surface my feet incessantly tapped out a beat on the cold slate tiles, an impatient banter stemming from my distracted mind. A cold mug of beer sat in front of me, its frothy surface undisturbed. Beads of condensation trailed down the glassy surface before bleeding into the tabletop.

But I could concentrate on nothing else. I stared blindly ahead, the room around me a faded scene of icy distress. I could focus on nothing but that foul scar. Its memory was burned repulsively on the back of my eyelids. In my mind's eye the skull's empty eyes stared challengingly. Its gaze was cold, callous and unwavering as it glared back at me. A snake protruded from the skull's mouth like a tongue, flickering mockingly along the child's porcelain skin. My teeth automatically clenched together and I let out a soft, angry hiss at the memory.

_Why? _

The question pained its way through me, weaving like a virus through my veins. Everywhere it touched I felt myself die just that little bit further.

_Who would do that to a child?_

The anger, the resentment, the hate flared again. I wanted to yell at the heavens, to vent until my voice broke, dying to a hoarse whisper on my lips. I wanted to scream at the injustice until I was empty.

But I could do none of these things.

So I sat, staring straight ahead, my blood congealing in my numb body as I waited.

~*~

The blaze in the darkened fireplace behind me had died to mere embers long before Dumbledore ever made an appearance.

I didn't rise when he entered. I didn't even acknowledge him with a glance. Instead I kept my eyes fixed firmly ahead of me as the wizened old wizard lowered himself on to the chair opposite.

The familiar sharp, piercing blue eye cut across my gaze as he sat, framed by their usual half-moon spectacles. My eyes automatically fell to the tankard in front of me under the scrutiny. I could feel Dumbledore's continued gaze on my face in the silence of the gloomy room.

"Young shoulders should not carry such troubles," he murmured quietly.

The irony in those few words failed to escape me and I let out a short, humourless laugh. Dumbledore didn't know how accurate he was.

"Sirius?" he pressed again.

I kept my gaze firmly downward as I finally replied, my fingers playing along the iciness of the beer glass.

"She carries the Dark Mark." My voice was barely a whisper but even then I nearly choked on the last two words.

"What?" my companion's voice demanded, suddenly sharp.

The abruptness was so uncharacteristic for the wizard before me and I found my head automatically lifting. The light blue eyes that stared back were intense with unexpected astonishment.

"The Dark Mark," I repeated softly. "It's burned into the skin of her shoulder."

The irises of the wizard before me darkened slightly and his gaze flicked away as he absorbed the words. Slowly the creases in his forehead eased and his expression relaxed, becoming inscrutable again.

"I see," was all he said.

I frowned slightly. The response had been unsatisfying to say the least. A large part of me had expected that Dumbledore would have some outstanding words of wisdom to offer at the revelation. Needless to say I was more than a little disappointed by the unsatisfactory reply.

"Well," I blurted after a tense moment. "What do we do?"

Now it was Dumbledore's turn to frown as he looked back at me.

"She's a child, Sirius," he began with an almost appalled tone. "We don't need to _do _anything."

"But," I almost gasped out. I felt my incredulous eyes widen impossibly. "The Dark Mark – "

"A _child,_" Professor Dumbledore reiterated with a sharp tone that inviting no questioning. "You have to remember that she didn't do this to herself."

A soft, resigned sigh escaped my lips before I could stop it. He was right of course. In my shock I'd allowed myself to forget that fact. Slowly the memory recalled itself again and I frowned as I registered a small, previously ignored detail. It was only now that I recognised the way she'd stiffened in my arms when I'd touched the abominable mark on her skin.

'_You idiot,'_ I thought savagely.

And then acrid taste of bile burned in the back of my throat as I remembered the cowardly way I'd fled from her. I swallowed once, feeling my next words catch on the hollow lump of regret that had formed in the back of my throat.

"What kind of monster would do that?"

A small, wry smile formed on Dumbledore's lips and I watched, baffled, as it twinkled in his eyes.

"Now that is the real question," he said quietly before he rose.

~*~

"Rachel?" I called.

My voice echoed around the darkened hallways as I bounded easily up the staircase. I had no idea where to find the small girl. I hadn't heard a peep from her since I'd fled from her earlier that afternoon. It seemed so foolish now, the way I'd reacted to her in my mother's bedroom.

But in all honesty I'd been hung up on the unexpected presence of the abhorrent symbol and hadn't stopped to think about what it actually meant.

No child _elected _to be a Death Eater. Even if they said that they wanted to be branded with the Dark Mark, no four-year-old has the capacity to understand what that would really mean. It was shameful to admit that in my shock I'd actually forgotten that fact.

But as I leapt up on to the first floor landing I couldn't help thinking that some good had at least come from the discovery. We now had one more clue to Rachel's identity - she was almost certainly a pure blood, which narrowed down the possibilities for her parentage considerably.

"Rachel?" I called again, pushing open the door to the guest bedroom.

My dark eyes quickly scanned the darkened room. Nothing appeared disturbed, which surprised me greatly. I'd expected the child to retreat to here when I'd left her. It was, after all, virtually the only familiar place to her inside of this dreadful house. But now that it was plainly evident she wasn't I found myself a little stumped as to where to look next.

Leaving the room and its empty remains I made short work of searching the rest of the first floor and when that proved fruitless, the second.

Frustrated now I stood with my hands on my hips and a frown on my face in the middle of the second floor corridor.

_Where the hell could she be?_

I was just about to re-check the multitude of rooms below when a familiar voice reached my ears. The words the creature spoke were easily recognisable but oddly I got the impression it wasn't me he was whinging about (for once).

"Filthy little brat just waltzes in and takes over. Mistress would turn in her grave if she saw the unwashed miscreants making themselves at home – "

"Kreacher," I growled, approaching the skulking servant from behind. "Where is she?"

Kreacher didn't even turn when I'd addressed him. Instead he kept prowling along the dusty wooden floorboards, heading away from me, all the while never ceasing his string of mutterings.

" – in the noble House of Black. Placing its foul paws over Kreacher's precious possessions – "

That was the last of the servant's ramblings I heard. Kreacher had just told me exactly what I'd wanted to hear.

My feet pounded down the staircase quickly, leading me to the tiny hovel Kreacher called a 'home'. In retrospect it was little more than a hole, a crack in the brickwork that lead to a small, darkened recession.

I crouched down on the cold floor in front of the opening. The hole was tiny, barely deep enough to accommodate Kreacher's size, and not to mention absolutely filthy. The dusty floor was littered with a pile of mouldy blankets that filled the hovel with a rank, stale smell. Scattered throughout were a plethora of shiny possessions – cutlery, jewellery, photo frames and the like. The pilfered goods glinted incriminatingly back at me but I barely noticed. My gaze was firmly fixed on the most significant object buried amongst the filth – Rachel.

She lay on her side, her tiny frame curled into a tight ball as she hid in the darkened crevasse.

"Rachel," I breathed, it was almost a sigh of relief.

Moist blue eyes stared sadly back at me from inside the shelter but the child made no attempt to move. Evidently I had a lot of making up to do.

"Rach, I'm sorry," I began softly, my gaze never wavering from hers. "I acted like an idiot and I'm sorry."

The child broke the eye contact as a fresh bout of tears spilled down her porcelain cheeks. I swallowed hard. Now I was really feeling guilty.

"Oh, Rach," I murmured, holding my arms out to her. "Come on."

Once again, my softly spoken words seemed to have the opposite affect I'd intended. Crystal streaks now relentlessly trailed down her smooth skin as her small body beginning to wrack with gasping sobs.

'_Merlin, how do people do this?'_ I thought desperately, running a hand through my hair.

I felt cornered, almost completely at my wits end. Somehow I had to convince this child of my remorse.

"Please, Rach," whispered pleadingly, opening my arms for her again. I felt my eyebrows pull together as I begged her eyes with my own.

Slowly Rachel's gasping breaths eased though tears still tracked down her face. I released the breath I'd been holding as she slowly and carefully crawled her way out from the enclosed hovel. As soon as she was within reach I pulled the child's trembling frame into the safety of my arms. Her tiny hand grasped the front of my robes as I clutched her protectively to my chest.


End file.
